The Hog's Head
by grumpyoldman
Summary: Aberforth Dumbledore is the owner and proprieter of The Hog's Head pub. This is his story. Post HBP. Rated M for some Adult Themes.
1. Business as usual

Aberforth Dumbledore raised the glass, and tossing his head back, downed the contents in one gulp.

'Bloody Albus.'

He slapped the container onto his desk and emptied the last of his firewhiskey into it. He'd retreated to his office following his brother's funeral and locked the door. Doreus would watch the bar on what was promising to be a busy night. A loud crash sounded from the common room below, followed by cheers. Aberforth hoisted his glass once more, a mocking salute to his too-good brother.

Another crash. Aberforth wiped a clean spot on the window overlooking the main street of Hogsmeade. An enthusiastic muggle duel had spilled from his pub and onto the street. Patrons were forming a circle around them. Aberforth growled. He very much doubted anyone was purchasing any drinks while they watched the spectacle on the street. He slammed open the window.

'Doreus!' He shouted. A stocky, squat wizard appeared from the pub and looked up at the window. He had small squinty eyes, a scraggly beard and wore a fine top hat.

'On it boss.' The squat man shouted back. The man pushed his way through to the middle of the circle. The two combatants were grappling and throwing punches. Doreus took one look at the situation and dove into the middle of it.

Aberforth slapped his head. 'Merlin's bloody beard.'

Doreus cracked the heads of the two fighters together. They stumbled for a moment dazed. Doreus delivered a fierce kick into the groin of one man, retiring him in an instant. The other recovered quickly, and jumped onto the back of the squat wizard.

The crowd cheered.

Aberforth glared at the stupidity gathered beneath him. He flicked his wrist and a knotty wand appeared in his hand. He thrust it into the sky and growled a blasting curse.

The explosion silenced the street. Doreus ended the fight by knocking his distracted foe out with a savage blow to the face.

'You lot want the Aurors down here?' Aberforth yelled. Several patrons glanced around cautiously, while another panicked and attempted to apparate away with a crack, leaving the bottom half of his body behind, attached to which, was a heavy looking coin pouch.

Half the crowd dived at the pair of legs, which leapt into the air and ran around the street trying to get away.

'Idiots' conceded Aberforth, watching the chaos unfold. He followed the legs with his wand and summoned the pouch into his hand. Once more, he had the attention of the crowd.

'Next round is on the house.' He shouted, 'In honour of my dear brother'.

Cheering, the throng packed themselves back into the common room of the pub, leaving Aberforth the master of a near empty street.

'What'ya want me t'do with these boss.' Asked Doreus, indicating the two bodies and the pair of legs that was running in circles around the street, the squat man was sporting a freshly blackened eye and his hat had been caved in, but was otherwise cheerful.

Aberforth plucked the empty bottle from his desk and threw it at his employee. Doreus ducked, and the bottle clipped his head, knocking his hat off.

'Oi! whassat for?'

'Idiot!' roared Aberforth 'Any longer and the ministry would be swarming all over the village and our takings for the night would have vanished with our customers. Use your wand next time.'

Aberforth tossed the pouch into the air; it fell into his hand, jingling merrily. He thought for a moment before deciding.

'Strip them, take their gold and dump them in Puddifoot's.'

Doreus nodded and began to chase after the legs. Aberforth rolled his eyes and aimed his wand. A flash of red burst from the tip and the legs fell to the ground petrified.

'Oh right! Wand' declared Doreus who finally pulled out his wand and began casting spells. Soon the two and a half bodies were naked and floating off towards the Tea Shop.

Aberforth slammed the window closed and sat back down at his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh bottle of firewhiskey. He grasped the cork with his teeth, and yanked it free with a pop.

The old wizard, lone bearer of the Dumbledore name, filled his glass to overflowing. He spat the cork onto the floor and slid his wand back into the holster on his wrist.

'Bloody Albus.' He said, and bought the glass to his lips.


	2. Wakeup call

Someone was knocking at his door.

Aberforth lay slumped on his desk. He let out a groan. From the severity of his headache he assumed it was still morning. Aberforth was not a morning person, choosing to sleep through the worst of his daily hangovers. He ignored the person at the door.

They knocked again, three stern and precise beats.

Aberforth pushed himself into a seating position. The empty bottle he was using as a pillow rolled off the table and onto the floor with a thunk.

Three more knocks.

He picked up the bottle and flung it at the door; 'Bog off!' he roared. The bottle bounced off harmlessly and rolled on the ground. Bloody unbreakable charms, he thought. Muffled indignation reached him through the oak doorway. Aberforth groaned and tried to remember where he put his wand, clawing through drawers and peering under the table, oblivious to the tip of holly poking from his sleeve.

The door opened, and Aberforth swore.

'I do not put up with that language from fifteen year olds, Mr Dumbledore.' Said a witch as she stepped into the room, she sniffed the air and covered her nose with her hand 'I will not put up with it from someone ten times as old.'

Aberforth tried to focus on the rigid looking blob at the door. He searched the desk with his hands, found his glasses and put them on.

Minerva McGonagall stood before him. He knew her as an elderly witch, a disciplinarian with a backbone of steel and fondness for tartan. His brother had respected her immensely, valuing her friendship and counsel. Aberforth found her dull and overly moral.

'Professor,' he grunted, 'or is that headmistress now?' He opened his drawer and pulled a bottle of firewhiskey out. He found his glass on the floor and filled it, noting the witch's disapproval as he poured the liquid down his throat.

'Where are my manners?' he asked, and pulled another glass from the drawer. He spat into the cup and cleaned it with the stained edge of his shirt. He grinned at the headmistress as he placed the container before her, and filled both glasses.

'Sorry about that.' He said, and raised his glass 'cheers!' The headmistress ignored the offered drink and scanned the room, clearly distressed.

Aberforth found nothing wrong with the small room, at one end was his bed, which was nothing more than a mould encrusted mattress, one of the corners frayed from the chewing of some unknown pest. The walls were panelled wood broken only by a dirty window next to the desk that let little light into the room. The floor was hardwood, bare and dusty, relatively clean spots marked obvious walkways and a large black stain was poorly hidden by a stinking rag that may have been a rug once. A stinking chamber pot sat next to his bed, and Aberforth suddenly felt the need to relieve himself.

'How can you live like this?' asked the professor.

Aberforth stood from his chair and stepped across the room to the pot.

'Like what?' he replied, oblivious. He pulled himself from his trousers, and began to empty his bladder in the rough direction of the chamber pot. When he was done, he broke wind loudly and sat back at his desk.

Aberforth scratched his head at the drawn, pale expression on the witch's face, and shrugged. He knew she hadn't paid him a friendly visit, the headmistress was here with a purpose. He didn't notice the wand in her hand.

Aberforth gaped as the witch before him waved her wand in a circle around her head. The room transformed wherever she pointed, wood not cleaned in decades shone with a polished glow, the mattress expanded, becoming a proper bed with clean sheets, pillows and blankets. The chamber pot was simply vanished, replaced by a modern appliance of porcelain. The large stain on the floor resisted the scouring by magic, but was more completely covered by a simple maroon rug.

Aberforth leapt up, knocking his chair to the floor, his wand leapt to his fingers.

'Damned woman! If you think you can burst in here' – his mouth filled with soap suds before he could finish the sentence. He coughed and spluttered, but could not speak for the bubbles.

'I did warn you, Mister Dumbledore, that I do not allow such language.'

She waved her wand in zigzags toward his body; he felt a rush of warm air, then a slight itching as several months' worth of filth was scoured from his body. He suddenly felt naked, despite the cleaned and new looking robes that replaced his old smock.

'Put that away, Mister Dumbledore.' She said, pointing at his wand, 'and do sit down.'

Aberforth sat. His chair had righted itself, and was now comfortably cushioned. He offered his grumpiest frown to the witch, and poured himself another glass of firewhiskey.

'What do you want?' he asked. He ignored the cleanness of the glass and took a sizeable mouthful. He spat it out immediately.

'Merlin's Beard! Are you trying to poison me?'

Minerva cleaned the spilled liquid with a wave of her wand. 'It's apple juice, Mister Dumbledore, commonly drunk in the morning with breakfast.'

Aberforth ignored the professor's meddling and brought her back to the point. 'What do you want, Headmistress?'

The professor conjured a sturdy wooden chair and sat opposite the bartender.

'As you realise, your brothers passing has left a sizeable hole in the wizarding world.' She said. Aberforth grunted.

'Such as it is, dark forces are moving to fill this void.' McGonagall removed her glasses and met Aberforth's gaze, 'Such a move, would prove catastrophic for us all.'

Aberforth didn't like where this was heading, his brother had delivered a similar speech almost twenty years ago now. And now he was dead.

'What do you want?' He repeated.

McGonagall replaced her glasses, and looked down her nose at Aberforth; it was, he thought, quite an admiral teaching pose.

'I would like to offer you, against my better judgement, the position of Defence against the Dark Arts professor.'

The frown on the bartender's face melted as he erupted into laughter. The headmistress was less than amused.

'A teaching position at Hogwarts is a fine honour, Mister Dumbledore, not something to be mocked.' She glared at Aberforth, who ceased his chuckling under the weight of her stare. 'The name Dumbledore has become synonymous with hope. While your brother lived, He Who Must Not Be Named was unwilling to commit himself too deeply. Now? It is only a matter of time before the Dark Lord and his forces operate overtly.'

Aberforth no longer felt like laughing. He had assumed the offer was a joke. He was aware of the unwanted power attached to his surname, and of the consequences of Albus' passing. Aberforth suddenly felt fifty years older, and released a sigh. The headmistress continued.

'While your teaching credentials are-', she paused '-less than stellar, your presence at Hogwarts would offer He Who Must Not Be Named some uncertainty.'

'Voldemort.' she said, pausing to gauge the barman's reaction. He belched, and she continued. 'Voldemort's greatest fear is death; he fears uncertainty as he cannot bend it to his will. Your presence at Hogwarts would still Voldemort's attacks long enough to fortify our defences.'

Aberforth considered the proposal for a moment. He had never liked the dependence that had been placed upon his brother. For all intents and purposes, Albus was the unofficial leader of wizarding Britain. It was a responsibility he bore gracefully, but McGonagall was right, Albus had left a gigantic hole, and through it the world would tumble.

'You're right.' He said, repeating his thoughts. The professor smiled for the first time. 'And you're a bloody fool.' The smile on McGonagall's face vanished.

'I'd be a terrible teacher. Merlin's beard' he laughed 'I can't even read.'

The professor, he noted, was shocked by this revelation.

'I'm a bartender.' He said, 'Among other things, none of which include being a saviour.'

McGonagall nodded stiffly, 'Very well. Good day Mister Dumbledore.' She turned to the door and paused. 'I trust any information you receive will still be passed on by the regular channels?'

'I told you, Headmistress, I'm just a bartender.' He said, the professor nodded curtly and closed the door behind her.

Aberforth stood and stared at his room. 'Among other things', he smiled, and with a wave of his wand, his room returned to its squalid state.


	3. Hog's Head Guard

Aberforth descended the staircase that connected the private rooms of the Hog's Head to the common room. It was a small room, crammed with tables and chairs that appeared to be nearing the end of their usefulness. Doreus lay snoring at the bar; Aberforth thought for a moment that McGonagall had spelled him senseless, but the man smelled strongly of ale, making the bartender suspect otherwise.

He flicked his wand at the feet of his employee, setting them alight.

Smoke rose to the ceiling, and Aberforth prepared breakfast, a full pint of strong black Troll Ale. He leaned against the back of the bar to enjoy the drink, when a terrible scream erupted from Doreus.

Aberforth laughed as the squat man danced around the room looking for something to douse the flames. It took Doreus some time to remember that he was a wizard, and he extinguished the flames finally with a quick flick of his wand. He glowered at Aberforth.

'Cranky old bastard, whassat for?' he said, peeling off his boots. The smell that filled the common room suggested that the footwear hadn't been removed in weeks.

Aberforth drank a deep draught from the mug and placed it on the counter, his foggy blue eyes staring into the shorter man.

'I had a visitor this morning, Doreus.' He said.

Doreus scratched at the black on his feet, when he was satisfied that they weren't burnt; he put his boots back on. 'Visitor eh? No reason to burn a mans feet.'

Aberforth raised his wand and Doreus cowered.

'I was wondering how they got past your ever vigilant bloody watch.'

The squat man muttered apologies, promises that he would never shirk his duty again.

Aberforth lowered his wand. 'Aye, you're lucky it wasn't Deatheaters', this time.'

At the mention of the Dark Lord's followers, Doreus paled, but curiosity won out.

'Who'd want to visit you?' he asked.

'Someone worse than a bloody Deatheater' Aberforth mumbled, 'My brother's successor. She wanted to offer me a job.'

The bartender explained the details of the visit, taking a moment to glower at Doreus when the man stifled a laugh at the particulars of the position. When he had finished the story, he poured the squat man a pint and asked for his opinion.

'Abe, I think you have a problem' he stated.

Aberforth flung his hands in the air. 'What did I just bloody tell you? Did my recollection of the morning's events leave you under the impression that I wasn't already aware of my current situation? I'm asking you for your opinion, not my own words thrown back at me, no matter how succinctly put.'

Doreus blinked. 'Sorry boss.'

Aberforth swallowed some more ale. 'And?'

'And what?'

'Merlin's Beard!' Aberforth swore. He spoke his next sentence slowly 'What is your appraisal of the current situation?'

Doreus shifted his top hat and scratched at his scalp. 'Well boss, if the headmistress wanted your services, there are probably others who will try approach you too.'

'That's right.' Aberforth smiled. 'Now, all these social calls – which are a bloody inevitability, they're going to get noticed. I'd wager Galleons that McGonagall was seen leaving our establishment, and that piece of information is now being discussed by several parties looking to have the Dumbledore name aligned with their faction.'

Doreus frowned. 'That doesn't seem so bad though. Just tell them to buy a drink or sod off, like you do with the regulars.'

'Wouldn't work.' Aberforth said 'They'll still be seen coming in and out. If I reject one group, and they get word of another lot paying a visit, they'll assume I'm considering their offer. It's going to be impossible to convince them otherwise.'

'Why don't I kill the next special visitor we get?' Doreus grinned wickedly 'That'd be a sure discouragement to the others'

'No.' Aberforth said 'These people won't be the usual scum that darken our doorway. They're not to be discouraged by a killing. No I only have three options that I can see.'

'Aye boss?' Doreus asked.

'I can close the pub and bugger off overseas. But sod that, pub like this has memories.' Dumbledore patted the bar, some of the memories stuck to his hand, and he wiped them off on his robes.

Doreus grinned.

'Second, I can accept the job at Hogwarts.' Doreus snorted, the bartender ignored him and continued 'and thirdly' he grinned 'I ask the lot of them to join me.'

Doreus roared with laughter and approval, the two slapped their mugs together and drained the remains.

Half an hour later, Aberforth was giving directions to Doreus, who wrote on a large piece of parchment. 'Good, now read it back.' He asked.

Doreus held the poster up, on it was a crudely drawn stick figure with a wand in one hand, and a firewhiskey bottle in the other. Beneath that was childlike writing, which Doreus read aloud. 'Join the Hog's Head Guard today. Sign below. First meeting next Friday at eight.'

Aberforth stared proudly at the poster. 'Problem solved!' he declared. The old wizard pulled out his wand and wiggled it at the parchment, making several copies. He and Doreus plastered them on the front door and window, securing them with sticking charms. Aberforth didn't believe that anyone would be stupid enough to actually join, but he was certain it would deter most unwanted guests.

The rest of the morning was spent behind the register counting up the previous night's takings. He first separated the coins into three piles, Knuts, Sickles and Galleons.

Total's were added, multiplied, then subtracted; and then added again. The figures were marked in an ancient tome, a massive book with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of pages. For all Aberforth knew, that could be the case, he never thought seriously about it. Thinking too hard about how things worked in the wizarding world was a pointless activity, things simply worked.

The system was confusing to any who watched it. Aberforth, who could not read or write, had a fine way with numbers. It was a gift that he had honed to maximise profit.

The old wizard separated a small stack of Galleons and Sickles, and sent it sliding over to Doreus with his wand. The squat man tipped his hat, and stuffed the money into his pouch. 'Good haul, last night.' He said.

Aberforth grunted 'Wizarding heroes should die more often.'

He placed the rest of the coins into three large sacks, and closed the register.

The pub made a surprising amount of money. The dregs of society were unwelcome at the more family oriented establishments; Aberforth had a virtual monopoly over that market, with practically no overhead. It was a gold mine, and Aberforth had no intention of abandoning it.

The bartender picked up the sacks, and dropped them almost immediately. A large crash had sounded below them. The two wizards looked at each other, wands in hand.


End file.
